He waited in the field for the Yellow Cab, conversing with men in
overalls. He carried a pail of avocados, almost black, and gave one to
each. The absence of streets and traffic lights was insignificant.
Looking up just in time, he saw a kit of wild city pigeons, the sun
brightening their feathers—morphs of rainbow. Rusty-red, white and
pied-blue. He watched them stream through the rays and listened for the
sound of tires.
first published in Camroc Press Review 2012
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Lovely... loved the images your words created
ReplyDeletethanks so much, susmita.
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